


Wear The Crown

by heartofstanding



Series: Sunflowers [3]
Category: The Hobbit
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 09:52:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4517376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofstanding/pseuds/heartofstanding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin wakes up after Thranduil spends the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wear The Crown

It is early morning when Thorin wakes, streaks of warm, but dim sunlight drifting through fissures in the rock designed to let natural light in. His eyes follow the traces, sees the dark silhouette of the sunflower in its pot. Then his eyes turn to the warmth curled by his side. Thranduil. His eyes are shut and Thorin rests a hesitant hand on his head, strokes through the pale, tangled hair. Here, amongst the darkness Erebor's halls, he is like a pale strand of moonlight, soon to be gone, lost amongst a greater light or darkness.

His skin is pale, the features as stark as black iron and as fragile as glass, and his hair a dull glitter. His mouth opens in a soft sigh and he presses closer to Thorin. He is an Elf. He is not made for these halls, and when the sun rises fully in the sky, he will stand and dress. And he will leave.

And he will make no promises of returning. But then, Thorin won't ask for them. He has never asked for them and Thranduil has always returned.

He slips away, leaving Thranduil to the bed, and dresses himself in an old pair of trousers. On the table beside the bed lies Thranduil's crown, the sharp lines of wood mingled with the leaves and berries of autumn. There is no trace of stone nor metal upon this crown, no gleam of gold or silver or even mithril, and the wood is not woven around costly gems nor studded with rubies and emeralds. Slowly, Thorin reaches out and touches them, runs his fingers over the wood, worn but still sharply barbed.

'It is quite old.'

Thorin's eyes fly to Thranduil's, sees the old shimmer of starlight amongst the blue of them. His mouth opens, but he says nothing.

'Though,' Thranduil's lips twist with amusement, 'it is nowhere near as old as I am.'

'I thought you slept.'

Thranduil pushes himself up, sitting cross-legged. He is shameless, Thorin thinks, sitting there utterly naked with audacity of a half-smile playing across his face. 'Why would I sleep?'

'The morning—' Thorin shakes his head. 'It is still early.'

'Indeed.' Thranduil's smile grows, and he leans over, rests a hand on Thorin's arm. 'Early enough that we do not have to be anywhere else.'

'Your crown.' Thorin says, voice choked, and he is tempted just to let it go, to climb into bed with Thranduil and touch him until he has forgotten everything but the taste of Thranduil's body.

'What of it?' Thranduil's fingers are cool, trailing down Thorin's bicep, following the lengths of bone and sinew to circle his wrist.

'There is no gold on it, nor silver, nor any jewels. Why?'

'My people are of the forest,' Thranduil says, quietly, 'While we may love them, we make little from the stones of the earth. But we delight in the green things that grow.'

Thorin is not sure he understands, perhaps not truly. But then, maybe, it does not matter so much. He turns back to Thranduil, takes him in his arms, presses him down on the bed.

'You do not understand,' Thranduil says, and his eyes become distant, starlight extinguished, and it is his turn to leave the bed. He walks naked to the window, and Thorin wants to call him away, tell him not to be so brazen, to stand there naked. He touches the pot the sunflower sits in and Thorin nearly cries out _don't_ , afraid Thranduil will push it over, ruin it.

Instead, Thranduil curls a finger around a leaf and smiles softly.

Thorin presses his brow to the pillow, dredges up words from the bottom of his heart. 'I don't understand, not truly. I am a dwarf, and my business is with stone and metal. But I... I like your crown. It suits you.'

Thranduil's lips twitch into a weak smile, and he turns to face Thorin. Outside, the sun is rising and it is blinding. Thorin can't look. 


End file.
